Demons and Dragons and Rangers, Oh My!
by Raudhr Blodhgarm
Summary: Inheritance, bartimaeus, and Ranger's crossover. Actual plot, I promise! Set after all Ranger's, After Ring of Solomon but before other junk, and before whole Inheritance. Minor Spoilers on Bart and inheritance, big spoilers on Ranger's. ON HIATUS!
1. The summons

**Dragons and demons and Rangers, Oh my!**

**Chapter 1: The summons**

**Bartimaeus**

It felt like a usual summons. I'm just enjoying myself in the Other Place, reveling in the togetherness of all currently dismissed spirits, and I feel the familiar pull. As I fly down to Earth at amazing speeds, I work on what form I want. Hmmmm. Ptolemy is too fresh; it still hurts. Raging Demonic form? No, that only works on the inexperienced ones. It seemed subtlety and finesse were called for; not a problem for higher djinn, such as myself. I wondered if this poor guy knew what he was getting into. Last great adventure I had, I stole the mighty Ring of Solomon from right under his nose. Marids, Afrits, hordes of djinn, no problem. All you need is some intelligence and cunning. Thud! The swashbuckling Arab slammed into the pentacle. I was complete with dual scimitars crossed on my back, the spiked cap, even the ferocious scar on my left eye. "What is your desire?" the aforesaid Arab demanded "Riches beyond your wildest dreams? A kingdom to rival the might of Jerusalem? The secrets of women's minds? Tell me your foe and I shall blast them to dust!" All nice and well on the outside, but really 50% of that was beyond me. Especially the part about women. It was about now I noticed that my slaver was wearing a mottled green and brown cloak, cowl up and deep enough that I couldn't see his face; this I did not notice until later, as I was staring at the massive longbow at his side and the silver tipped arrows in his quiver. It would appear I was going to be asked to "Blast my foe to dust"! Then he spoke. It was a strong voice, and I could tell from his stature that he could wrestle Jabor to the ground. "I don't have time for your praises of times gone past. I am going to tell you where you are, when you are, and why you're here. First of all, this is Araluen, around Celtica. Next, this is about 500 A.D. Finally, some strange things have been happening. Namely, a massive continent named Alagaesia crashed into Skandia, and with it, dragons, magicians, and strange beasts." He gruffly stated. "Glories gone past? Well, if it has been that many years, then maybe… More to the point, I suppose it will be the usual kill them, make me rich business then? And about the dragons, they're probably djinn in dragon form. Which is impressive, being that huge and all, but still. Nothing some well placed Detonations and Infernos won't take care of." I replied, still a little miffed about his denouncement of my glories. I ask you! Glories gone by! "No. I sent djinn before you. All of them are beasts, humans, or dragons are their respective forms on all seven planes. And, for the sake of clarity, by magicians I mean humans capable of working magic without the assistance of spirits." I gave him my patented "I pity your stupidity" look. "That's not possible. You humans are as magical as dust mites. Slightly less so, in fact. I once knew a dust mite that could turn himself invisible. And furthermore, dragons don't, and never did, exist." He gave me a look that suggested that he should be pitying my stupidity "Well, I suppose then that charges given to djinn no longer bind them, and that we should all bow down and worship the dust mites for their glorious ability to turn invisible right before we step on them, crushing our supreme overlords into the dust they're named after." He sarcastically spat out, "Do you think I would forget to order the djinn to relate their findings truthfully and without deception? If so, it appears the saying 'Wisdom comes with age' is false, as the younger of us would be the only one with a clear head. Do you take me for some spoon fed fool?" I replied with extreme wit, "Yes, and did you perhaps summon Faquarl? He is rather dense." His eloquent response was putting a silver arrow exactly one centimeter from my neck. "Perhaps you should remember who could dispatch you at any moment, without difficulty, and not even suffer from the famous indigestion you demons get after eating something physical." He said it slowly, as if speaking to an idiot, not a mighty entity that defeated Solomon in his own fortress. "Fine. What do you want?" I asked glumly. No point in arguing with the cold hard truth. "I want you to somehow transport yourself to the leader of Alagaesia, or the leader of any faction there, without causing undue alarm or initiating hostilities between us and any other land, and upon arrival, decide if they would be a helpful and moral ally for Araluen. If they are, attempt to negotiate peace or alliance with them. If not, do what you djinn do best. Kill all in your path and return to me."


	2. The Summons Halt's Edition

**Dragons and demons and Rangers, Oh my!**

**Chapter 2: The Summons (Halt's Edition)**

**Halt**

As he drew the pentacles, and filled the incense bowls, he thought over what he was about to do. He was about to disregard generations of caution and warnings. He was about to summon a demon. This would be the first time in over a hundred years that someone would summon a spirit in Araluen. He was risking his life. He had done more times than he could count. The difference was, this time, his accuracy with a bow would count for nothing. None of his fighting prowess would count for anything. It would all rest on his nerves. And if he failed… No. He had prevailed over Morgarath at Hackham Heath and the Plains of Uthal. He had driven back a full-fledged Temujai invasion with nothing but four hundred Skandians and one hundred archers. He had masterminded the defense of the Emperor of Nihon-Ja with nothing but fifty warriors, some timber workers, and legends of hairy mountain men. Holding his nerve for five, maybe even ten minutes would be easy. As long as he knew he was doing it for Will. No, the hard part, he decided, would be making sure the demon didn't get hold of his or his friends' birth names. Had he been known as something else when he achieved his many victories, then there would be no problem. But now, his birth name was legend, it was a house name in at least three different countries! And it didn't stop there; his friends, Will and Horace, were both legends as well. "Well look at poor old me, famous and adored by all" he thought wryly. Well, there nothing for it but to guard his tongue. And then he stepped into the pentacle and began speaking. After some chanting that made Halt feel immensely foolish, he waited for seven seconds. Then, with an ear blasting thud, a veteran warrior appeared. He appeared to be an Arridi. "What is your desire?" the aforesaid Arridi demanded, "Riches beyond your wildest dreams? A kingdom to rival the might of Jerusalem? The secrets of women's minds? Tell me your foe and I shall blast them to dust!" he ended the rant bellowing. Halt chuckled on the inside. He appeared to be a megalomaniac. If so, he was in for a surprise. "I don't have time for your praises of times gone past. I am going to tell you where you are, when you are, and why you're here. First of all, this is Araluen, around Celtica. Next, this is about 500 A.D. Finally, some strange things have been happening. Namely, a massive continent named Alagaesia crashed into Skandia, and with it, dragons, magicians, and strange beasts." He stated. The djinni looked extremely indignant, which is an interesting look for a hardened veteran, "Glories gone past? Well, if it has been that many years, then maybe… More to the point, I suppose it will be the usual: kill them, make me rich business then? And about the dragons, they're probably djinn in dragon form. Which is impressive, being that huge and all, but still. Nothing some well placed Detonations and Infernos won't take care of." He replied primly. Halt groaned on the inside. Not another cheeky one. He would try reasoning with it once more. After that… hmmm. Maybe his accuracy with a bow would come in handy. "No. I sent djinn before you. All of them, beasts, humans, or dragons, are their respective forms on all seven planes. And, for the sake of clarity, by magicians I mean humans capable of working magic without the assistance of spirits." He carefully kept his tone without sarcasm. The djinni looked at him like he was a foolish child, and retorted "That's not possible. You humans are as magical as dust mites. Slightly less so, in fact. I once knew a dust mite that could turn himself invisible. And furthermore, dragons don't, and never did, exist." This time, Halt didn't bother resisting the sarcastic response that sprang to his tongue. "Well, I suppose then that charges given to djinn no longer bind them, and that we should all bow down and worship the dust mites for their glorious ability to turn invisible right before we step on them, crushing our supreme overlords into the dust they're named after." He sarcastically spat out, "Do you think I would forget to order the djinn to relate their findings truthfully and without deception? If so, it appears the saying 'Wisdom comes with age' is false, as the younger of us would be the only one with a clear head. Do you take me for some spoon fed fool?" the djinni looked at him condescendingly again and spat out equally sarcastically, "Yes, and did you perhaps summon Faquarl? He is rather dense." That was the last straw. Nobody spoke back to Halt like that and escaped unscathed. In the motion ingrained into his very being, he snatched an arrow from his quiver, nocked it to his bow, pulled back to full draw, aimed, and shot. All this took about two seconds. He surveyed his handiwork. His arrow was embedded in the wall next to Bartimaeus, still quivering. Time to push his advantage. He said his next words sweetly and slowly, as if talking to an uncomprehending child, "Perhaps you should remember who could dispatch you at any moment, without difficulty, and not even suffer from the famous indigestion you demons get after eating something physical." "Fine. What do you want?" the djinni asked, all traces of cheek long gone. Halt almost allowed himself a small smile. Almost. "I want you to somehow transport yourself to the leader of Alagaesia, or the leader of any faction there, without causing undue alarm or initiating hostilities between us and any other land, and upon arrival, decide if they would be a helpful and moral ally for Araluen. If they are, attempt to negotiate peace or alliance with them. If not, do what you djinn do best. Kill all in your path and return to me."


	3. Something is Amiss

**Dragons and demons and Rangers, Oh my!**

**Chapter 3: Something is amiss**

**Oromis**

"Ebrithil!" the youthful voice hollered. Oromis groaned on the inside. "Please, oh please, let it not be another scuffle" he pleaded to himself. Externally, of course, he merely said "Yes, Hathar?" "Master, something is amiss! The nomads speak of a strange land that appeared over night!" he exclaimed. The over-eager elven Rider seemed rather, well, eager. Oromis had not heard of this land before. Perhaps it was nonsense… No. It was his duty as Vrael's Fist to investigate any strange happenings, no matter how small. _"Glaedr! Once again, you and I must ride and investigate some drunk's fantasy!" _he mentally shouted. _"Partner-of-my-spirit, do you not think I know this? You and I always know what the other knows. And one of these days, it will be a true problem, so do not feel as if it is a waste of time. We MUST investigate every time." _The massive golden dragon replied._ "Of course, of course. As always you are right, Glaedr." "Indeed, I am always correct." _He replied smugly.And on that note, he swooped down from the blue skies of Vroengard and through the gaping hole in the roof of the citadel. _"Let us descend on our foe, and vanquish them, you and I, Rider and Dragon!" _He exclaimed gleefully_. "What foe, Glaedr?"_ Oromis queried as he climbed onto him, exasperated_. "Gravity!" _he replied, and took off, leaving Hathar standing awestruck.


	4. Magicians and their Quests

**Demons and Dragons and Rangers, Oh my!**

**Chapter 4: Magicians and their quests**

**Bartimaeus**

So here I am, mighty Bartimaeus, confidante of kings, builder of legends, he who raised the walls of Uruk itself. Flying through the sleet. In the name of diplomacy. This was a task for a human! What would require the many mighty skills of a swashbuckling djinni such as myself? Leading armies into impossible odds, stealing magical artifacts, even exterminating bandits works! Sitting around and bickering with stuck up human officials? NO. Not at all. Any old lawyer would work! Even a human (This proves its insignificance)! Magicians and their quests! I ask you! What person in their right mind would such an imposing figure as myself to negotiate a peace treaty? Subjugate a nation, that I could understand, but a peace treaty? "What person in their right mind". Thus the problem reveals itself. After all, what magician is in their right mind? Claiming that dragons exist and humans can cast spells. Crazy old ma- WHAT THE [_profanity removed_]? There is a [_profanity removed_] ing dragon flying at me! Checking all seven planes… oh God. The graybeard was speaking the truth. It was a dragon on all seven planes. But but but but but HOW? I've been around the block quite a few times and never, in all my years, have I seen a dragon. Then I remembered my form (currently a creature with the body of a man, but head and feet of a falcon). I quickly changed into a massive verdigris-colored dragon. Wait a second. That dragon had a rider! Suddenly a consciousness started butting up against my mind. Idiot. Last time somebody tried to break my mind I broke them, and then made them jump into a pool of acid. I returned the favor with a mental battering ram comprised of the message: Prepare to die, foolish mortal! I brushed aside the dragon's defenses and began examining his memories. While doing so, my/ the dragons rider's consciousness took over my body. Immediately I sent a message to him announcing "I will release your dragon if you release me." In seconds my consciousness was safe inside my own body. The rider bellowed across to where I hung suspended in midair, "What manner of being are you, a creature that can sweep aside the defenses of a well trained dragon, that can… Change your body?" Time to tell this insolent little human who he was dealing with. "I am the mighty god of war, Al-Sakkhar! And what are you, little dragon, who presumes to attempt to break my mind? Had you penetrated my defenses, you would be a mumbling beast! My consciousness is too vast for any being to understand, so how would a hatchling dragon even contemplate survival? I have come to your land of Alagaesia to teach your leader humility. He must delegate with King Duncan of Araluen, and agree to a peace treaty. If I return to Alagaesia and he has not yet signed this peace treaty, I will unleash havoc like none have ever seen! Fare thee well, Dragon Rider!" With this I turned into a cloud of smoke, then a lightning bolt. Faquarl and I had been having an argument during our last mutual captivity about whether phoenixes or lightning bolts are faster. Lightning bolts are obviously faster. As was about to be proven. As I zoomed away, I imagined the awestruck look on the dragon's face. Then I slammed headfirst into a tree. I tried flying through the tree. No cigar. I tried backing out of the tree. No cigar. I was about to change into, say, Ptolemy, and pull myself out when I realized that the tree would crush my head. Darn good thing there was no cigar. I finally realized that at the moment, I was being of pure electrical energy. So I zapped the tree. NO CIGAR. Then the arrogant voice I would know anywhere spoke in a mocking tone, "Dear me, a damsel in distress. It would seem she has gotten herself stuck in a tree, the incompetent little thing. Now, damsel, how did you get stuck there?" "Oh, you know full well who I am and how I got here, Faquarl. Help a djinni out." I snapped. With an expression of astonishment he said "A djinni? Surely not… but it is! The mighty Bartimaeus is stuck in a tree"! Now adopting his normal tone of voice as he pulled me out, "See Bartimaeus, how many times must I tell you? Lightning bolts get you stuck in trees. Look, it's even an elm! Just like I told you would happen." "Just help me out and we can be on our separate ways." I grumbled. He did yank me out, at which point I became the Arab from before but then explained "Actually, your way and my way are one and the same. Blunt old graybeard sound familiar? Well, I was sent down here to see why you were so slow to return. I tried to explain that you are always brutally sluggish, but he was deadest on the idea that you had been captured. By the way, I discovered his son's birthname. But make sure you don't tell him. He would shoot you on the spot. Actually, make a point of telling him." Great. Now I had to deal with Faquarl on a regular basis. All I said, of course, was "Good to know. It's good to have a fellow high level djinni watching your back." "Don't pretend that you aren't peeved that you now have a constant reminder of you inferiority." He snapped. I blasted him quite a few yards with a Detonation and took off as a phoenix. Faquarl got up faster than I expected and took off after me as a lightning bolt. And slammed headfirst into an ancient oak tree. I didn't even look back.


	5. Ride to Castle Araluen

**Demons and Dragons and Rangers, Oh My!**

**Chapter 5: Ride to Castle Araluen**

**Halt**

The rain pounded down on the lone rider heading west to Castle Araluen. The casual observer would have thought this man was miserable. The decidedly less casual observer that was riding parallel to him 30 yards to his left knew that Halt was simply deep in thought. So did the rider on his right. Their names were, from right to left, Gilan, Halt, and Will. However, until the mighty doors of the throne room of King Duncan were closed and sealed, they referred to each other as, from right to left, Neal, Falberd, and John. This was because King Duncan had decided that the people, until it became absolutely necessary, were not to know about the demons that the Rangers were summoning to combat the new threat from Alagaesia. As such, it would be best that the people were not aware that the strangers riding with vanguards of what appeared to be mounted foreign soldiers (They were in fact djinn. As Rangers trained from their induction to the order, they were capable of summoning around seven high level djinn apiece.) It was always better to avoid raising questions. King Duncan had called these three in particular to help him thrash out an effective strategy to deal with this new threat. Halt would stay afterward to go through lists of currently summoned djinn and who was controlling who, so as to say, if they had more djinn than they expected they would need, then they would inform that magician to dismiss his/her djinn and summon some Afrits. Thus was the Araluen way to deal with things they didn't understand. First step: Try to make them your friends. If this does not work, use step two. Second step: Fling arrows and Detonations into said misunderstood thing until it stops breathing. Halt was especially good at this step. It was because Halt was deep in thought that he did not notice, as he usually would have, that his rearmost djinni was gone. And then Gilan's. And then Will's. It was at this point that Will noticed that his djinn were disappearing, and signaled to Halt. Halt then in turn signaled Gilan, and on the count of three, they spun around and loosed arrows at the first movement they saw. Two cloaked assassins fell dead from their horses and one howled with pain as an arrow embedded itself in his shoulder. Nonetheless, he still managed to wheel his horse away, only to be shot from the saddle, with an arrow quivering in his back. "Blast!" Halt bellowed. He urged Abelard to gallop, and didn't bother to check if Will and Gilan were following. Somebody was willing to send assassins capable of slaying djinn after the soldiers. Halt could only imagine what they were willing to send after the King.

**I know, it's short, but I am going to make up for it with the next Halt chappie. I am afraid that the next chapter (An Oromis one) will also be very short, because I have NOTHING to write about, and I can't write that character well anyways. So. Barty chappies are gonna have LOTS of dialogue, and some action. But Oromis get's nothing, and Halt is about to get an amazing banter and butt-kicking chappie soon. ^_^**


	6. Deep in Thought

**Demons and dragons and Rangers, Oh My!**

**Chapter 6: Deep in Thought**

**Oromis**

After his harrowing experience with the self-proclaimed God of War, Al-Sakkhar, Oromis began to question his beliefs, or lack thereof. He had always said that if he found evidence that gods existed, he would readjust his views. But now that he did have proof, he found himself unwilling to accept it. The fact that there were gods wasn't what disturbed him, but the implications. If gods existed, then was there a devil? And were they laboring under the illusion that their works mattered, that no matter how mighty their cities were, it could be swept aside on a whim by a god? Was everything they had ever accomplished worth nothing, nothing at all? The elves claimed they did not believe in supernatural forces because they had no proof, but could the real reason be because they could not accept that they had no say in the happenings of the world? Glaedr's opinion on the matter was that Al-Sakkhar was not a god, but merely some creature native to this new land that they had more or less slammed into capable of great prowess in mind-breaking. Nothing more, nothing less. He had also mentioned that if Al-Sakkhar attempted to harm Oromis, then they would find out if he was invulnerable to fire, claws and teeth. "Well at least there was something that would never change", Oromis thought. He and Glaedr would always protect each other. He drew solace and peace of mind from this knowledge. With the knowledge that he was never alone, he rose from his chair and strode into the kitchen of his plain quarters. As Oromis was wont to do, he filled his enchanted oak kettle with water and lit a fire under it with magic. The kitchen contained a fire pit in one corner, a chest containing Oromis's entire cutlery set, as well as any other cooking supplies he owned. There was also a washing basin against the east wall, and a wooden box containing iced vegetables. Connected to the kitchen by a door in the west wall was his bedroom which contained a chest, a bed, and a massive dragon bed. Glaedr was currently curled up sleeping in the dragon bed. Just the sight of his soul partner made Oromis smile. As fierce as he was, sometimes Glaedr could be so much of a cat. A knock sounded on his door. Oromis groaned and jogged over to the door and answered it. Hathar was standing outside. As over-eager and klutzy as he was, he was good-hearted and very powerful for his age, so Vrael had deemed him worthy of being Oromis's apprentice. But oh, he could be exasperating. "Yes, Hathar?" Oromis asked politely. "Sir, Commandant Vrael requests your presence. He spoke of an Al-Sakkhar." He spoke the last sentence with a questioning tone. Oromis dutifully ignored him. "Very well. Is he in his chamber or the council room"? He queried. "The council room, Ebrithil." "Thank you, Hathar." He contacted Glaedr mentally. "Yes, partner-of-my-soul?" Glaedr asked as he roused himself. "Vrael wants us in the council room." He informed him. "Very well." The golden dragon responded. With a few pumps of his mighty wings, he sailed away to the council room. Oromis did likewise, sprinting down the hallways with inhuman grace and swiftness.

**Oh dear God, an Oromis chapter of reasonable length! Oh the horror! Perhaps not terribly good, but hey, I can't write Oromis worth a bagel. Thought I had forgotten about being insanity? Nwepe. (Also known as nope with you *with disgust* normal people.) Soooo. EMOTICON! \( . . )/. 0.0**


	7. Deep in Thought Bart's Edition

**Demons and Dragons and Rangers, Oh My**

**Chapter 7: Deep in Thought (Bartimaeus edition)**

**Bartimaeus **

On my flight back to Graybeard's cottage, I began to reflect on this new adventure. It looked like it might be just as momentous as my adventures with Asmira back at Jerusalem. It had all the ingredients to be a legendary event; mysterious anti-conformist magician, legendary swashbuckling djinn (Me and Faquarl, loathe as I am to admit it), unexplainable happenings (even by ancient and wise djinn such as myself), and hey, war. Now, the war thing hadn't happened yet, but honestly, how else is this going to end? Everybody accepts each other's presence and they all start working together? From what I'd gleaned from townspeople along the way, (My master failed to instruct me to be timely about it, but I didn't have much reason to dawdle.) Graybeard's little universe didn't even get along. The Skandians raided pretty much everybody else, the Temujai were world-conquering megalomaniacs, the Gallicans just sat in Gallica and squabbled. So for some reason a whole new continent loaded with different people, cultures and ideas would somehow magically make everyone get along? From wisdom borne of many centuries of experience, I know that people will **never** get along**. **So, back to my reflections on the greatness of this adventure, perhaps one day, the epic of Alagaesia will be sung, with the mighty hero Bartimaeus at its center. Then there's the whole dragon thing. Pretty much self-explanatory, but since you humans are amazingly thick, I shall explain it. These creatures can appear as dragons on all seven planes. But dragons don't exist. Thus, we have a rather confusing conundrum, a paradox, if you will. For now, my explanation was that they were Charas, a subclass of djinn that can operate on the 1st through 9th planes. If I expend tremendous amounts of energy on it, I can see on the ninth plane, but only for a fleeting moment. The only reason I doubted this is because no Charas I have ever met is powerful enough to take the form of something as gigantic as that dragon. But hey, a powerful Charas is far less strange an explanation than it actually being a dragon. Satisfied that I had solved the conundrum, I sped up. And slammed straight into a launched Inferno. Thanks to my fiery form (A phoenix), I just kept flying. Then I realized that whatever was flinging attacks at me was probably capable of hitting a moving target. My theory was validated by a somewhat wimpy Detonation smashing into my right wing. I began spiraling towards the ground, and then recovered quickly. I whirled around, quickly changing into my Avianse from earlier (Chapter 4: my guise before the dragon) and flung a Detonation at a furtive shape, which veered to the right sharply, but not sharply enough to avoid my high-powered attack clipping it. As it struggled to regain control, I took the opportunity to study my opponent. First plane, pure shadow. Second plane, regal falcon. Third through sixth, a fiery angel. Seventh, ZENO! "What did I tell you about pursuing higher spirits?" I raged, flinging Detonations and riddling him with Spasms the whole way, "It gets you killed! But nooooooooooo, you're too good to listen to me! I told you to leave Queezle alone, but NO! You persist! You banter and banter and banter and she's just distracted enough to get a silver arrow! She almost DIED! You're lucky you and her shared a master when I killed the magician, or I would have killed you next!" I bellowed. I swung around and caught him with a clawed hand and dragged him to the ground, pinning him there. I raised a hand, the most powerful Dark Node I had mustered for centuries already prepared to be flung, when he cried out "Mercy! I beg your forgiveness. Queezle and I were friends and I was foolish to distract her, but it was borne of stupidity, not malice!" he begged. The groveling of a djinni, no matter how petty or weak, reminds me that I have pity, somewhere deep inside. As such I simply rolled a hefty boulder on top of him and left him to the elements and rage of his master. It felt good to be mighty. With this thought, I turned into a phoenix with a flash of light and soared away.

**This isn't the end! It's just a small intermission before Bartimaeus's real battle scene (This one doesn't count because Zeno is a pansy)! I felt like that sentence deserved to be an ending, so I put this here. I put Zeno in here! It's a Golem's Eye reference. And a Queezle reference! Romance? I have to consider. Maybe I will give Bartimaeus a Queezle scene. Maybe! This is not going to be a teen, no matter what! So it will have to be appropriate. Tell me if you think this is a good idea or not. And if you send me QueezlexBartimaeus hate reviews then I will make sure to put a QxB chappie in there (Only mild tempered "No thank you"s allowed). An entire chappie! On to the rest of the story!**

As I pumped my majestic flaming wings and soared through the air, I realized that I probably should have questioned Zeno and discovered his purpose. Granted, if his magician was at all competent, he wouldn't have allowed him the opportunity to tell me his purpose. But that's no guarantee. Ah, what the heck, I hated turning around as a phoenix. So long, Zeno! I pumped my wings with renewed vigor. Fief Norgate, Araluen, Ah! Redmont! I began spiraling down to Ol' Graybeard's cottage. Upon which I was met by Queezle. "How very terrible to see you, Bartimaeus." She called up to me, in the form of a sort of leopard-human hybrid. "And you as well, Queezle." I called down in reply. Contrary to what you dense humans are thinking right now, this was just us sharing a joke. Back in, oh where was it, Tenochtitlan, we had a witty conversation when supposed to be sacrificing the losers of one of their religious games (They have so many, I can't be expected to know them all.), and I mentioned that between us djinn, it would be rather spiteful on Earth to greet someone with "Good to see you" because this is an uncivilized piece of rock. Instead, it would be more appropriate to say "How very terrible to see you." in empathy that they were stuck on aforesaid rock the first time you met them during that bout of slavery. After that it was perfectly acceptable to say "Good to see you." because it was just as well that you friends were together during your slavery. As such, we were just sharing an inside joke. "What brings you here, Queezle?" I asked, keeping my voice very steady. "A ******* magician." She responded, "And you?" I simply waved my hand in a dismissive manner and said "Oh, the same, the same. Actually," I said, brightening up, "the same master if I'm correct." Queezle tested me with "Grumpy old Graybeard? Fond of his silver arrows?" "Very fond." was my gruff response. "Any particular reason you're waiting outside his cottage?" I queried. "My job is to tell you to fly to Castle Araluen with me." She replied offhand. "Why?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. "His king is under attack." she told me. "Hmmmm. Sumerian spear-bearer?" She shook her head. "Moorish veteran?" I asked. "No." she replied. I went with a classic "Goatman with big ram horns and spikes on his arms?" I demanded. "Sure, what the heck." She responded. "Well, let's see if our master has some weapons." She suggested with a failed attempt at a world-weary air. I burst out in gales of merriment. Once I was done, I chuckled "Oh Queezle, you can't do world-weary! All you can do is cheerful and upbeat." I was still wiping tears from my eyes when she just punched me. Nothing magical about it, just a clenched fist colliding with my upper lip. Didn't keep me from flying around ten yards. With that, she took off as a flaming angel with bull horns sprouting from her head. I jumped up and soared away, close behind, in "Goatman with big ram horns and spikes on his arms" form, complete with reptilian wings. I pumped my wings with more vigor than I can recall doing in the last millennia as I gained on her. Inch by inch, I was gaining on her. Then she suddenly dropped, leaving me tumbling through thin air. Then I realized that I was over Castle Araluen, and was now required to help Queezle fight off whatever was in there. I just folded my wings and plummeted.

**PSYCH! No battle scene! Unless you count Zeno (Who is a pansy) or Queezle (Who was just playing). I included Queezle! But as a friend. That is my decision. But it is not set in stone! So if you feel strongly about it, review! I kind of like my use of Queezle and ancient references. But tell me if you dislike how I am writing, because I am new. But you have to review! R&R ya'll! ^.^**


	8. For The King!

**Demons and Dragons and Rangers, Oh My!**

**Chapter 8: For the King!**

**Halt**

As Halt, Gilan and Will fled across the plains, their djinn guards were slowly depleted as they rose to face many enemies, some human, some not, until the only ones left were Halt's faithful servant, Queezle, and Nemaides, Gilan's elite djinni. Nemaides was capable of fighting off anything but Afrits and above, so Halt sent Queezle to fetch Bartimaeus and instruct him to meet them at Castle Araluen to protect Duncan. Once there, well, all out and devil take the hindmost. With only their wits and Nemaides to keep them alive, they set out once more. When they began to near Castle Araluen, Will informed Halt that Nemaides had sensed a magical battle occurring around Castle Araluen. "I'll be willing to wager that's Duncan pulling his weight." He replied. When they reached the surrounding villages, they received many strange stares. Halt ignored them, while Gilan and Will raised their hands in greeting, though they didn't look at the villagers, instead keeping their eyes fixed on the road ahead. Finally, when they began to lose hope, the graceful shape of Castle Araluen loomed up in front of them. Tug, Blaze, and Abelard, all sensing the urgency, burst into a full gallop, which is a fearsome thing when executed by a Ranger horse. People dove out of their way as they streaked past. When they reached the gates of the citadel Halt simply waved his longbow and they scurried to open the portcullis, which was barely open enough for the Rangers to ride under it, hunched on their horses. Guards scrambled for their weapons when they saw them approaching, then relaxed as they realized they were King's Rangers. Halt vaulted off of Abelard when they neared the mighty oak doors and slammed into the right one. Gilan and Will reined their horses in when they saw Halt hit the door. It then swung inward with a mighty groan, Halt still stuck to it about eight feet up. It was only when Halt dropped and began sprinting towards the throne room that they realized he had slammed his saxe knife into it with all of Abelard and his combined momentum. They then dismounted with all haste and followed him into the keep.

**Arghh! Another intermission! How dare you, Raudhr, how dare you! I just wanted to say that I am going to add a battle scene, which is why the rest of this chapter is absolute dreck. I'm anticipating the battle scene and it's throwing me off. Also, this story will be at least 20 chapters long. At least! My current plan makes it about 34 chappies long -.- I know, right? And all you inheritance peeps, I'm sorry that I called myself Raudhr for a second, but hey, Dautr abr du Sundavar calls herself Sunda, soooo…**

As Halt flew down the hallways, he wondered what would happen if Duncan fell in battle. They couldn't afford another power vacuum like the one twenty years ago that Morgarath used. Huh, he thought. It would probably be best then, in that case, to sprint just a little bit faster. He did as the thought said, well, thought. As such, when he whipped around the last corner like he was trying to make fire, he knew he couldn't stop himself from slamming into the door. So he tucked his shoulder and closed his eyes. The door splintered from his impact. As he stumbled into the room, he instinctively knew to duck. His instincts saved his life, as a Detonation finished the door off, blasting apart where his head had just been. He then, following his instincts once more, he rolled behind one of the thick marble pillars. This time, he was just being paranoid. No attack came. He could hear, however, sounds of battle coming from the other side of the pillar. "Halt?" Duncan's rich bass voice rang out. "Looks like a good thing too!" He replied. The only reason a human could have lasted as long as Duncan had is because Duncan was the most resilient king that had ever lived. He could slay any djinni that came his way, could kill an Afrit with great effort and skill, and could put up a good fight against marids. There is no recorded incident of a human defeating a marid in open combat, so they have good reason to be supremely confident in their abilities. It helped that Duncan wielded LeopardFang, a blade that contained an Afrit, and as such, smote with the strength of a hefty Afrit's Detonation, and another broadsword, which was made of the purest silver his smiths could find. Halt also had a hefty level of resilience, though only enough to fight off djinn. It was pure coincidence that he, as a Ranger and hence a summoner, had resilience. The Rangers didn't look for it in recruits, only what would make them a good Ranger, not magician. Now, back to the story. Halt whirled around and absorbed the scene. Duncan was standing on the elevated area that led up to his throne. Six spirits stood on the lower ground around it. Three were Afrits of middling power, two were low level Afrits, and one was a heavyweight djinni. At least, this was Halt's estimation. The most powerful of them, in the form of a humanoid wolf with mighty horns sprouting from his temples, had obtained a nasty slash from shoulder to shoulder on his back. The others didn't have very major injuries, with the exception of the djinni, whose left arm hung limp at his side. Their forms, from most powerful to least, are as follows: The wolf-man, twin golden lions with fiery manes (As in, made of fire), a whirling pillar of smoke, a normal man, save for the massive curved blades that sprouted from the backs of his hands, and a bright red skinned Egyptian man with the head of a jackal. As for Duncan, he had a vicious gash on his right eye, which was still bleeding copiously, as well as a puncture wound in his left thigh. He grasped LeopardFang loosely in his right hand and a silver-tipped spear in his left. As Halt skimmed the scene, Duncan cast the spear like a javelin into the throat of one of the lions as it reared up to strike, which simply disintegrated. Halt followed up with a silver arrow to nape of the wolf-man's neck. It staggered about the room, groping for the arrow. Eventually it just clubbed the shaft with a paw, which shattered, and disappeared with a flash of light. Halt knew it wasn't dead, but that was insignificant. It was incapacitated for this fight, which was all he was thinking about at the moment. The dead lion's counterpart whirled around, and with rage in its eyes, spewed a torrent of green fire. Halt dove out of the way, but was his right shoulder was still singed and he was propelled into the wall. His head cracked against the marble wall, and red stars began to dance before his eyes. The towering pillar of smoke floated slowly, with great finality, towards his limp form. Duncan slashed at the man with the curved blades as he leapt at him. While he was thus occupied, the djinni seized the spear that had clattered to the ground after slaying the lion, and was smote to the side by two simultaneous Detonations from above. A silver throwing knife embedded itself in a shadowy shape at the center of the whirlwind, which shrieked with pain and rage before imploding in on itself. A half formed thought drifted into Halt's addled mind: Not dead. Okay. The lion opened its maw and let out a ferocious roar. Light flared in the room and seared Halt's eyes. He groaned with discomfort. He heard Will cry out. That snapped him out of his stupor like a bucket of ice water could only dream of. He closed his eyes and seized his bow. Now he waited for the slightest suggestion of its location. Unfortunately, his hint was its full weight slamming into him. Luckily, a Flux from Bartimaeus cushioned his impact into the wall, or his spine and most of his other bones would have shattered. As it was, he simply obtained some impressive bruises. The last thing he saw was the beast raising its paw to strike him dead. He heard a shout dimly before the paw flew at him and it all went black.

**Bartimaeus+Queezle+Gilan+Will to the rescue! Will and Gilan are in this fic, but they are just minor characters. Same with Horace. As for Inheritance dewds, (Got to spell something weird. After all, this normal you speak off sounds like no fun at all.) this takes place before even Brom's childhood, so it'll be maybe some Galbatorix as a young child, as a good guy, just to mess with you guys' minds. ^.^ But other than that, it will all be Vrael, Oromis, Glaedr, and OC. What should I name Vrael's dragon? They never said. Except maybe in Inheritance, this is being written before I read it. I will write no more new chapters until I get good ideas. :| SO. Ok, if I get a good idea, I'll use it but still .**


	9. Vrael's Request

**Demons and Dragons and Rangers, Oh My!**

**Chapter 9: Vrael's Request**

**Oromis**

As Oromis sprinted down the halls, a bestial elf fell into step next to him. Blodhgarm was his name, Oromis recalled. He was an immensely powerful spell weaver, a good friend of Hathar's. A sort of uncle or grandfather figure, if he recalled. Interesting. Last time he had observed Blodhgarm, which had been during a fight with a gang of bandits with skilled spellcasters, he had taken the form of a humanoid salamander. Now he was a deep blue humanoid wolf and gave off a musky masculine scent. Oromis wondered what sort of effects it might have on women. It might be a dangerous thing. Of course, elves would have no problems with it, but he would be able to influence, say, the Queen of the Broddring Kingdom without any effort. Hmmmmmm. He would have to keep an eye on him. Back to the task at hand.

"And why, pray tell, are you accompanying me?" Oromis asked brusquely. Back in Ellesmera, this would have been an almost criminal offense. However, due to the presence of human Riders, normal elven manners were abandoned in Doru Araeba.

"I accompany you for reasons of my own. I have been summoned by Vrael. That is all you need to know." Blodhgarm replied with equal gruffness. Ahhhh, Oromis loved the company of his people, but they're manners are exasperating. It felt good to treat everyone with the rough and rowdy attitude of the humans. Of course, it still felt strange to be spoken to that way. But etiquette is a two-way path, so it was just as well. While contemplating these topics, Oromis arrived at the heavily warded oak door and knocked.

Vrael's rough voice drifted through the door, "Blodhgarm? Oromis? Come in and speak to me of these strange matters that wrack our land."

"Yes, Commandant." Oromis responded obediently. He opened the door, which swung on well oiled hinges, and stepped inside. A wiry bearded elf sat across from him, on a simple chair of wood. A purple sheathed sword lay across his lap. He was fully dressed in mighty armor, with the exception of his helmet, which he held tucked under his arm. His blade was thicker than most other Rider's, too thick and heavy for any Rider but Vrael to wield with one hand. For most Riders, it would be a broadsword, and not a light one. For Vrael, it was a hand and a half sword. He had been blessed by the dragons, and thus, even being far from a heavyset elf, he was the strongest one alive.

He appeared, to the untrained eye, a human. To Riders and elves, it was clear that he was an elf in the guise of a human. He spoke.

"Blodhgarm. Oromis. I am afraid that Naegling and Sundavargarm may soon be forced to do their foul work. I feel that our age may soon end, and be replaced by a new one. Tell me, Oromis, of this Al-Sakkhar. Tell Blodhgarm. And Oromis, I fear that if your story matches my conclusions, then I may be required to send you to assassinate choice people. I wish it were not so, but it is. But I digress. Inform us." Vrael declared.

"Yes, my liege. Well, Glaedr and I were on an expedition over the new lands that have appeared. As I flew, I noticed a shape in the distance. It appeared to be a man, but with the head, feet and wings of a falcon. As we approached it, it suddenly expanded to the size of an elderly dragon, the color of verdigris. Glaedr attempted to contact its consciousness to inform it that we came in peace, but its shields were more powerful than any I had ever encountered. Well, there was that once…" Oromis trailed off thoughtfully.

"You digress, Oromis." Vrael reminded him. "Yes, yes. I believe it may be relevant later. Either way, in response to Glaedr's contact, it assaulted Glaedr with a message that informed us that we were going to die. While it was busy battering Glaedr, I seized its mind. Its consciousness was infinitely foreign. I could not, nor do I wish to, comprehend its mind. It worked on seven different levels, and then a couple more, which were very dull. It bargained with me that I release it, and it would release Glaedr. I obeyed, but I do not think I could have truly controlled the thing." Oromis spoke impassively, as if it meant nothing to him, but inside himself he recalled the fear of that experience.

It was at that moment that Raethorn appeared through the open top of the roof. Raethorn was a massive violet dragon, linked to Vrael, dwarfing even Glaedr directly before his death. She growled deep in her throat, and declared with her mind "Let this Al-Sakkhar tremble in fear before the majesty of my Rider and I! He is in our world now, and let him know the wrath of our people!" Glaedr roared in agreement from above and descended.

Blodhgarm finally spoke. "Perhaps we should negotiate peace," he cautiously suggested, "before striking out at them. After all, if there are more of these creatures in this strange new land, then we may be foolish to make war with them if peace and even alliance are possible."

"I am not done, Blodhgarm." Oromis bluntly stated, "This Al-Sakkhar proclaimed himself the God of War. He also demanded that we make peace with a King Duncan of Araluen. I suspect that it is a small, weak country, and that he wishes to have us humbled by negotiating with such an insignificant thing. And sir," Oromis added, seeing Vrael draw breath to cut him off, "Its mind was quite similar to that of a spirit, my liege."

"Was it?" Vrael quietly wondered. "Well, we have negotiations to organize." He stated decisively, rising from his chair, "Oromis, I am sending you and Blodhgarm to solve this. Bring Hathar, he could learn from this."

"Very well, my liege." Blodhgarm and Oromis intoned simultaneously, and then shot dagger glares at each other. He then began removing his armor. Quite suddenly, he drew Sundavargarm and flung it at the wall. "Practice." He explained as it stuck quivering in the wood. Oromis and Blodhgarm both shot each "Yikes" looks, and dashed away.

**Ah! Scary sword flinging Rider! Sorry about my Border line issues. And R&R peeps! Do you like my new Paragraph style? My buddy, Groose Almighty, kept bugging me about "Writing in block" So I stopped. I will change all my chappies to be like that! Raethorn was my idea, and I'm sticking with it. Weird virus attacked ma compooter, so that is why it took me so long. Actually respectable Oromis chapter! Its 1140 words long!**


	10. Cracking heads

**Demons and Dragons and Rangers, Oh My!**

**Chapter 10: Cracking heads**

**Bartimaeus**

As the air rushed past my ears, I realized that my current magician might not be what word describes. You say magician, I think tall, enigmatic, robed man, with archaic symbols crudely scrawled over his robes. You know them, the kind that always carry a tome with them, bound in rune covered leather. But this one, he pulls his weight. He put that arrow exactly where he wanted, and fast as well.

His robes? Mottled green and brown, seemed to blend into the background. He carries a bow, a quiver, and two expertly crafted knives, and would probably die of embarrassment if anyone caught him with a tome. Not to say that he didn't own a tome, (Or a grimoire, or whatever they call them these days. It's a book of summoning patterns and incantations. In other words, my eternal chains) it's impossible to memorize everything one needs to know in order to summon a demon.

One regular djinni of yours? Yeah, if you've had them for a year or so. Merlin holds the record as far as I know for memorizing the most pentacles and incantations at two marids, an afrit, and five djinn. Don't hold me to that, it's been a few centuries since I last saw him, but you get the gist. Hard to memorize.

That's all I thought before I detected the presence of Jabor. Between me and Queezle, we could take him. Oh yeah, and there was also a high strength afrit and two middling ones. Probably beyond us.

I caught sight of Jabor preparing to hurl a spear into the body of a wounded man fighting of one of the Afrits. I was going to ignore him when a deep grinding sensation inside me informed me that protecting him was part of my charge. Must be that deadweight Duncan. I hurled a Detonation at my old rival just as Queezle did. It blasted him a gratifying distance, but he wasn't dead. Pity.

An afrit drifting towards my master in the form of whirlwind took a silver throwing knife to the essence, and fled the battle. How very courageous of him.

The most powerful of the Afrits present, in the guise of a golden lion, roared and cast an Illumination. Must have been one heck of an Afrit, because he sustained it. In other words, an omnipresent light filled the room and stayed there, effectively resulting in a whiteout. However, the exhaustion of casting the Illumination on all seven planes would have been too powerful for a formidable marid, so for all the djinn, we just had to look on planes two through seven. Hmmmm.

My master was lying incapacitated against a wall, Duncan was crouching blind against the back wall of his throne room with a nasty silver broadsword held ready, and there were two men dressed in the same manner as my master staggering about the room. The lion was prowling towards my master, but was cautious due to the fates of his comrades.

An Afrit in the guise of an Arabic man with massive curved blades sprouting from the backs of his hands gracefully swept towards the smaller of the two blind men. Once again, the grinding feeling deep within me rudely instructed me to save him. Queezle blasted a Void at the lion, just as she erected a surprisingly powerful defense nexus around our master.

The Shields around the lion easily dealt with her Void, but it did distract him for a little while as he searched for the responsible djinni. I, meanwhile, hurled a Convulsion at the weaker Afrit and snatched a sword from the ground. It pulsed with energy, piquing my curiosity. I checked it out on all the planes. From five forward, its aura seared my inner eyes. I didn't have the faintest clue what it did, but it must be one hell of a sword.

Now, to war! I replaced my goat hooves with reptilian hands, and drew upon my time as a mameluke in Salah Al-din's grand cavalry. "Let your blood make this ground fertile once more!" I cried, and smote the Afrit from behind.

To my surprise, it flung him towards Graybeard's protégé (The young man). Green flames licked the stone blade, bright spears searching something to slay. I recognized almost immediately that this was a blade containing a spirit of no mean power.

Hmmmm. Surely it was not Excalibur, but it was similar… No, Agathon, the spirit contained within it was released, making it no more than a sharp piece of stone. It wouldn't be Aquitaine; it contained an ancient marid, far more powerful than this blade. Ah, it didn't really matter, the point was, it allowed me to teach this Afrit a lesson.

The protégé screamed in terror as the recovering Afrit slashed at him. I leveled this new weapon at the spirit and a burning Inferno flew with great velocity towards him. His essence flamed and he ceased to exist. I spun around and searched for my master. To my surprise, he was on his feet, bow in hand, listening for the slightest hint of the only remaining opponent.

Fortunately for me, he didn't have a chance. The beast slammed into him in a full tackle. I cast a Flux with maximum speed to keep his frail human body from shattering against the wall. As much as I wanted him dead, my charge still bound me with its cruel chains to protect him.

The beast raised its paw to smash his puny head, and swung it downwards. And was jerked to the side by the force of a silver arrow piercing its wrist. Just as it roared again, Queezle sliced its essence right open with Duncan's broadsword. It staggered around then, and fixed me with a gaze that in just a few seconds condemned me a traitor, the worst creature imaginable, a djinni that wielded a blade containing another one, one that would just as soon bind a spirit as free it. Then, it died.

**Reader: Dramatic ending! Raudhr, I'm proud of you, that wasn't complete dreck! Well, that's not entirely true. It just wasn't as bad of dreck as you usually churn out.**

**Raudhr: Forgive me for being unable to write spectacular literature just eight hours after retching up spicy tamales!**

**Reader: That happened?**

**Raudhr: *Shudders* Yeah.**

**Reader: Jeez, kid.**

**Raudhr: Wow, you would.**

**And now, the author's note! Yeah, Halt's not dead. And yes, I threw up tamales last night. *Shudders* Give me pity reviews! Yeah, it would be nice if anyone reviewed. Haters. *Accusatory face* I make FanFiction! I shall write a little Humor Bartimaeus fic called Tee Time. Looks it up, Y'alls. And I will also write How the Grinch Stole Christmas, an Epic. Kinda self-explanatory. BAI.**


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